Navigation
by Anna Fugazi
Summary: Someone that the agents thought was gone returns. While saving another can you realize the truth within yourself? MSR
1. A Professional At Work

Chapter 1: A Professional at Work

Summary:

Mind of a killer.

This is chapter 1 of a longer piece that will travel into MSR territory. I guess its 4th season…

Disclaimer:

My cousin tells me that I'm crazy. Brett tells me I should write more. Copyright laws tell me that the X-Files are not mine.

A/N: Please read and review. I am a real person (I think).

XXX

He did not pride himself on the swiftness of his kill. The deftness of his actions, the light-footedness he possessed, and his raven perception were not inherent. If asked to pinpoint the moment the adrenalin hit him, he would have to say that the click of the gat-lock as it swung freely on its buttered hinges was the point of grand rapture. It was so easy. He was trained to fight, flight, and forget, but he knew that this time was not the same. He couldn't dives himself of his arrogance. His pride. No, not in the swiftness, but the vitality preceded by the human self-deception of immortality was what allured him on countless prior missions. It was that he was a god that slithered with the countenance of a snake. He could go undetected, and yes, strike swiftly, but always divest himself of his skin. Tonight, like a constrictor, he would strangle, subdue, and wait for submission before consumption.

XXX

Five miles away in a dark basement office a red light began to flash while tape was fed through a recorder. On the other end of the line a synthesized voice on an MP3 file recognized the connection and began to play.


	2. Job Complete

Chapter 2: Objective Accomplished

Summary:

Reveling in a job well done.

This is chapter 2 of a longer piece that will travel into MSR territory. I guess its 4th season…

Disclaimer:

My cousin tells me that I'm crazy. Brett tells me I should write more. Copyright laws tell me that the X-Files are not mine.

A/N: Please read and review. I am a real person (I think).

XXX

He was unsure whether it was instinct or tactical skill that enabled him to see the red glow in the door frame of the room she had inhabited. It hardly mattered now. As he secured the weight on his shoulder, he knew that this was what he was born to do. He had the feeling that the Commander knew as well. It must be that clairvoyance kicking in again.

He never actually had met the Commander, but that was common in his field. Each party had their identities to protect. The partialities of emotion often times even undisclosed to themselves.

It was a code on Pentagon files; a processor with a DOD Ethernet connection which rendered the streaming video sent to him biweekly. Scheduling variations depended on the moon: waxing, Monday and Thursday; waning, Wednesday and Friday; new or full, two videos redirected over the encryption to an anonymous email account on Tuesdays. It seemed his operator enjoyed his weekends free.

The encryption was virtually untraceable, unless you had Level 6 clearance and knew exactly what you were looking for. On top of that, an advanced degree in cryptographic theory from MIT might be useful, as one so determined would find it necessary to sift through 128 million lines of binary while decoding a 24-byte algorithm with a rotating cleartext. If that wasn't enough, the probability of an accidental discovery was nil. No one would have cause to explore vaccination records.

So when his videos won presented him with a figure sheathed in smoke, it served to ironically imitate the penchant for genius that the Commander possessed. The figure had made first contact, requesting the completion of his lifelong odyssey. Realizing the truth and lying store to the detachment fate had allotted him, he acquiesced to the proposal. He was the best and he had been liberated to do his job again.

Under the streetlight he held her as a lover might carry his beloved over the threshold. Placing her almost reverently in the backseat he surveyed his work. Perfect. Pride is a weakness and with his job not yet complete he chose to relinquish the indulgence. Though, as he shut the door, he did allow himself bask in the privilege of enlightenment: destiny had invested in his skill and issued him the keys to secure his future.

A/N 2: Please feel free to yell at me that I know absolutely nothing about cryptography. I know I'm a techie-poser.


	3. Manifesto

Chapter 3: Manifesto

Summary:

AD Skinner takes a stand.

This is chapter 3 of a longer piece that will travel into MSR territory. I guess its 4th season…

Disclaimer:

My cousin tells me that I'm crazy. Brett tells me I should write more. Copyright laws tell me that the X-Files are not mine.

A/N: Please read and review. I am a real person (I think). Oh, and by the way, for the guy's voice, don't you think he sounds like Hugo Weaving? I don't know. I just think he sounds perfect for it. How would you take it if someone told you that you were the perfect villain? I wonder how William B. Davis feels. (For the uninitiated, Hugo Weaving played Agent Smith/s in the Matrix trilogy and V in V for Vendetta (and incredible movie) and if you're reading this you should know who Davis is).

XXX

"Hello, you've reached Special Agent Fox Mulder of the X-Files division. Please leave your name and number and I will return your call as soon as possible."

A Beep. Static. Then…

"There is no need for preliminary introductions—you know my identity. Although, I don't doubt you considered our particular nexus to have been severed by times current.

"Undoubtedly, when you hear this you will have noticed something of value has gone adrift. I have launched my career again, and you should feel honored that you should be my first subject. Although my trade does not take stock in personal assertion of revenge I was elated to discover business may sometimes be pleasurable.

"I know that FBI tracers are state of the art, so I'll be quick. Let me plot it out for you.

"There will be no ransom. No demands will be made. This is a test. No one will be harmed if you comply. Participation is a choice; however, our security package can be considered creative persuasion.

"So jump on in, Mulder. You profiled me once, are you sure you can navigate this time? Will you float in your success or drown in your shame?

"Enter the arena and I'll show you how the game is played. I hope you know how to swim."

As the tape stopped, Skinner looked into the din of the conference room. The pen lights of the task force lit the surface of the circular array of desks. Scattered papers and stale coffee seemed to be the elected décor. As a younger agent, he had been informed by his predecessor that the set up of the seventh floor executive meeting rooms had been constructed to perpetuate an atmosphere of organized tranquility. Dim lights and the particular geometric layout that afforded all attendants a position of power helped the agents center themselves and focus on the task at hand. He hoped that it was true.

With a well-practiced authoritarian grace, Skinner stood and addressed the 28 members. All pairs of eyes, save one, followed. Skinner was intimate friends with inner turmoil and was certain the pair that remained unafflicted by his call for attention were undividedly focused inward—eiditically categorizing all the causes of the owner's pain.

Clearing his throat and straightening his tie in a last ditch effort to secure his well constructed façade of infallibility he began:

"Special Agent Dana Scully was reported missing by her Mother at precisely 6:48 this morning…"


	4. Death by Paperwork

Chapter 4: Death by Paperwork

Summary:

Friday night.

This is chapter 4 of a longer piece that will travel into MSR territory. I guess its 4th season…

Disclaimer:

My cousin tells me that I'm crazy. Brett tells me I should write more. Copyright laws tell me that the X-Files are not mine.

A/N: Please read and review. I am a real person (I think). Oh, and tell me if the character interaction is plausible.

xxx

4:48 PM Friday Afternoon

2 Days Prior

Basement Office

"You look comatose."

Mulder slowly lifted his head from his desk to glance over to see his red-haired partner trying to suppress a smirk. It was Friday and her playful side had obviously come out to join the brain dead. He issued a weary chuckle and retorted.

"No, Scully. Don't be fooled. I just play comatose to get your attention." Straightening up and removing the paper clip that had implanted itself to the side of his cheek as he slept, he continued, "Inside this cataleptic shell lays a man deeply invested in his paperwork. I am absolutely _invigorated_ at the prospect of a weekend buried under a mountain of files."

Stifling a yawn, Mulder eyed the pile of papers with the same amount of affection he reserved for pedophiles, sociopaths, and men in black.

Scully looked down, biting back a smile, and reached for the power button on her computer.

"Well Mulder, as its Friday, and I've just spent a week doing mind numbing expense reports while you chased down irrevocably illegitimate leads and enthusiastically operated in denial concerning the backed up documents you owe the requisition office—"

"Hey, hey. First of all, Scully, those leads were not illegitimate..."

Ahh, he knew that would get the eyebrow.

"Sightings of ephemeral beings in old tenements are not unprecedented. Do you know how many people died there during the depression? The Hoovervilles in DC stretched for miles. And the witnesses all described the classic signs of a spiritual encounter. The drop—"

"Witnesses?…Come on, Mulder. If you're referring to who I think you're referring to—"

"Are you discriminating her veracity simply because of her profession?"

"Mulder," the exasperated warning tone was out, "She was a hooker. She was homeless. And she had needle scars on her arms. If I stuffed you in a back alley and shot you up, I'm sure you would have sexual encounters with spiritual entities as well…"

"Well, Destiny called."

"Mulder, if that's your destiny, I think you need to rethink your life."

"No, no, no. Her name was Destiny."

"You've got to be kidding."

"Nope." A big grin spread across his features. "But I will admit that I realize she wasn't a trustworthy source."

"Alas, divine intervention."

Mulder watched as Scully filed the last couple of folders in her bag and put on her trench coat. Issuing him a startling grin, he knew that he might reconsider the prospect of divine intervention as a probable occurrence in his life. He chuckled.

With a smirk she picked up her bag and walked over towards his desk. Leaning forward she said conspiratorially, "Well, then partner, I have a suggestion for your predicament. Either suffer this weekend, or endure the wrath of Skinner bright and early Monday morning."

He groaned putting his face in his hands. "I'd prefer that Kimberly not discover I scream like a woman."

"Well, then I'd say your weekend is set."

Turning her back to him, and heading for the door, Mulder couldn't help but feel that his torturous weekend would only be exacerbated by her absence.

"Hey, Scully."

She turned around and rearranged her bag on her shoulder.

"Yes?"

"What do ya say that before my torture officially begins at 12:00 Saturday morning, we go get dinner?. I heard Villa Mosconi makes a mean garlic pesto. I might as well smell bad if I'm going to be marinating in my despai. Maybe Rocco's afterwards?" He waggled his eyebrows. "For desert."

"Sorry, I would, but I am expected at my Mother's tonight at 8. Obligatory weekend over. She wants company at her block party. She's been dropping endless hints about the 'wonderful Mr. Pratchett, the corporate lawyer who move in down the block'. I know she's motivated by love, but I can't help but feel that she enjoys torture."

"Well, at least you don't have to worry about him having a soul."

"Maybe that's what your hooker saw by the tenement buildings."

"Possibly."

Each syllable of the word was drawn out.

"Well, have a good time, Scully. Maybe next week."

"I'll call tomorrow to make sure you aren't planning a ritualistic suicide on a flaming effigy of requisition forms."

"Don't give me ideas."

With that, she surprised him with another flash of teeth, issued a final farewell and closed the office door behind her.

Mulder looked back at his papers, already anticipating her call, ignorant of the fact that it would never come.


	5. A Board Game

Chapter 1: A Professional at Work

Summary:

Mind of a killer.

This is chapter 5 of a longer piece that will travel into MSR territory, for now its just angst and UST. I guess its 4th season…

Disclaimer:

"Disclaimer: 1) a renunciation of any claim to or connection with; 2) disavowal; 3) a statement made to save one's own ass.

"Though it'll go without saying ten minutes or so into these proceedings, Anna Fugazi would like to state that this fanfic is from start to finish a work of x-phile fantasy, not to be taken seriously. To insist that any of what follows is incendiary or inflammatory is to miss our intention and pass judgment; and passing judgment is reserved for God (aka Chris Carter) and God alone (this goes for you critics too...just kidding).

"So please before you think about hurting someone over this trifle of a fanfic, remember: even God has a sense of humor. Just look at the Platypus. Thank you and enjoy your read.

"P.S. I sincerely apologize to all Platypus enthusiasts out there who are offended by that thoughtless comment about Platypi. I respect the noble Platypus, and it is not my intention to slight these stupid creatures in any way. Thank you again and enjoy"

Disclaimer 2: Yes, I realize my first disclaimer was respectfully ripped off from the intro to Dogma. So, I'm disclaiming that and as always:

My cousin tells me that I'm crazy. Brett tells me I should write more. Copyright laws tell me that the X-Files are not mine.

A/N: Please read and review. I am a happy, but confused college freshman.

There are times when clarity sweeps over me. Rouses and alerts my senses as a strong gust of wind activates a windmill. A connection is made; disassociated images cohere flowing like electricity to shock a revelation out of purgatory. If I am lucky, a relaying of this message might be enough to have an effect and collapse a vicious system. Today, I feel numb. I need clarity, yet I am the one who is disassociated. From the buzz of those around me, from myself, and that which has been relegated for deliverance. Don't they know? I am no savior.

Xxx

My Father traveled often when I was younger. After Sam was taken, the frequency of his trips increased. Apparently his need to escape his mourning wife and silently grieving child were too extreme. What he couldn't express in violent words and action, or what he was unable to blame on us, caused him to flee from his dark and depressed home-life. After particularly venomous encounters, when both his wife and child had retired to their respective rooms to nurse their emotional and physical pummeling, I would hear him drag his overnight bag down the steps, slam the front door, and take off in the invariable black state department fleet car. The sleek town car acting to disguise the recklessness of the man within.

My Father was never an emotionally available man, but before her abduction, he would at least say goodbye. My sister and I would joke that the reason for his "business trips" was that he was CIA. My mother seemed to be just as oblivious as we were. I guess him being a spook would have been an improvement from his actual occupation. Although I don't recall all the places he had traveled, I was given a souvenir from each one, his last trip before November 27th was the most significant.

I was given a board game. It consisted of a bag of wooden pegs and a circular block of wood with a corresponding arrangement of holes patterned as a square cross. The pegs filled all the holes save one. By jumping adjacent and diagonally opposed pegs to clear the board, the objective was to leave the one remaining peg in the originally vacant niche in the middle.

I have acted as that remaining peg. I was willing to sacrifice all around me to reach my elusive goals. I realize now how wrong I was. Playing the game, one comes to realize that although you may annihilate all the other pegs to get what you desire, you may not wind up in the middle. And, even if you do, you're completely alone. I don't want that solitary existence. And the only person that I could ever pray to for deliverance has been removed from the board.

XXX

This is the thirteenth time I have listened to his taunting.


End file.
